


us with our pilgrim hearts (don't end with blood remix)

by thinkatory



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Multi, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Remix, Team Free Will 2.0
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 00:41:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1569656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkatory/pseuds/thinkatory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“We’re hunters,” Ben points out. “Nothing special.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“You’re the direct heirs of the Winchester Gospels,” Jesse says, immediately; it occurs to Ben that he probably already knows what they’re all going to say, and that’s less creepy to him than sounding incredibly boring. “And I think you’ve known that, even if you won’t admit it to yourselves or anyone else. Can you pour me a glass of champagne? I promise I won’t Twilight Zone any shit in here.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	us with our pilgrim hearts (don't end with blood remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [be_themoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/be_themoon/gifts).
  * Inspired by [us with our pilgrim hearts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/88113) by [be_themoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/be_themoon/pseuds/be_themoon). 



> These three are one of my favorite things! I have a vague idea of a plot from here on in but I decided to not turn it into a novel, lol. Ugggh I adore your original fic and I hope I did this justice. <3

It’s been a busy day, and Ben pulls up to the condemned manor house thing, shuts the car door, and checks his phone all at once, and that’s why it actually surprises him this time to hear her voice and see her standing there.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Claire Novak pronounces, hands on her slim hips, and those shorts are doing her all sorts of favors, goddamn. He takes her in before he even bothers speaking, but his raised eyebrows and apparent smile have said everything he would need to say, anyway. “Fine. We can do this one together. But only because I think I could actually use a hand. I was going to pay some ten year olds with twenties, but you’ll do.”

He laughs, surprised and amused. “You were going to send ten year olds into a house with two or three vengeful spirits?”

“It was an orphanage, dumbass.” She makes a face at him, and rolls her eyes when he grins at the way her face crinkles in annoyance. “And so long as they’re not over fourteen, the history says -- “

“Blah, blah, blah,” Ben interrupts, “I love research and books and dusty things too, but generally you find these things out right away when you walk in and piss them off.”

“That’s not even slightly true and you know it,” Claire says, crossing her arms over her chest.

“If we’re just gonna talk let’s go get some beers,” Ben returns, “otherwise let’s go do this.”

It’s a good hunt. No one nearly dies. The spirits are actually not total douchebags, and the July day means it’s even more insanely hot when they roast the bodies. They retreat into Ben’s car for the A/C, high on the adrenaline and the lingering scent of mixed gunpowder and rocksalt and kerosene fresh in their throats, and she moves in one swift motion to cross the gearshift and kiss him. Just like everything else, Claire doesn’t kiss halfway; it’s the sexiest fucking kiss he’s gotten in his life, all sweet and lingering and possessive.

“You’re not bad,” Claire says, something sparking in his eyes, something that immediately makes him feel like a goddamn champ. She’s so into him. “I might keep you.”

“Can’t be tamed,” Ben answers blithely, “but you can try.”

 

\--

 

“Mom, I’m -- “ Ben rolls his eyes at Claire, who’s pulling the bloody and otherwise filthy t-shirt clinging to her over her head. “It’s fine. I know I can trust her. Yes, I’m hunting with a girl. She’s really -- oh, shut up,” he says, to both Claire’s self-satisfied expression and the way his mom starts needling him again. “I mean -- Mom, I have to go.”

“Stay away from the demons, Ben,” Lisa says, steadily. “The angels and the demons, all of them. I can’t lose you. _We_ can’t lose you.”

“You won’t lose me. I’m really good at this.” He doesn’t want to think about _we_. He doesn’t want to think about any of it. “Love you. See you soon.” He sets the phone aside, and looks up to see Claire in plain bra and panties, tugging off her jeans and socks. It isn’t so much a decision to enjoy the view as it is an inevitability.

She glances up at him, casually. “My mom mentioned food three times,” she says. “Can you beat that?”

“No,” he admits, “but she did tell me to ‘stay off the radar’ three times, so I think I win that one.”

“Yeah,” she answers, in her avoidant way, and wanders to look in her duffel bag. He watches her go, and eventually she says, “What, go on and ask if you want to say something, or make a move if you like what you see.”

“I always like what I see,” Ben answers, flippant as anything, and goes on seamlessly, “I want to know what it’s like.”

“The exorcism? Or the -- “ Claire gestures vaguely at her head, glancing back at him, and he nods. Her posture shifts, and he sits, watching her intently. “You ever been able to tell when a storm is coming? Just taste it in the air? It’s like that. It tastes like sulfur and black licorice and it’s like that feeling like someone’s behind you or watching. I just _know_.”

“Because of the angel,” Ben says, quietly.

“Because of the angel,” Claire confirms. Something in her voice is different, cool, but he’s not going to fight about it. They’ve been on the road for a month and this is the first time she’s told him anything.

He stands, approaches her, brushes her hair from her bare shoulder, and kisses the top of her head. His hand rests on her stomach, fingers splayed, and her eyes are half-lidded and expression impassive at his touch. “I don’t go in for destiny,” he says, “or fate, or whatever. But no way there’s this much coincidence. You, and me, your dad, my -- “ he brushes that off -- “and we’re safe, together.” She bares her neck to him and he kisses it once and again, finally saying, “You and me.”

“You and me,” she murmurs, and her hand covers the one on her side. “Little early to be proposing, isn’t it, Braeden?”

“I think there’s something going on,” Ben says. So much of hunting is what feels right, what could be, thinking outside of even the idea of a box, and once you start thinking like that you really can’t stop. “Someone’s helping us.”

“Angels?” she asks; she traces a finger up his leg with her other hand. “ _God_?”

“I don’t know,” he says, and moves to undo Claire’s bra, “but I wish they’d send us a fruit basket or something.”

 

\--

 

The next morning, as they rest languid and quiet with vending machine snacks in celebration of demons exorcised, there’s a knock at the door. A motel employee’s holding a basket of fruit and champagne bottles. Claire looks like she’s seen a ghost, but Ben just laughs really hard and shouts “Thanks, join us for some bubbly if you’re bored!” to the ceiling.

Claire pops the cork, and they’re tipsy and laughing and watching shitty pothead movies on TV when there’s another knock at the door. She gets up, opens the door, and freezes.

“I decided to take you up on your offer,” some guy says on the other side of the door. “Hope you don’t mind, I’m just a little underage.”

“Jesse, what are you -- “ Claire hauls the kid into the motel room, and Ben raises his eyebrows. “You said you were going, and, and I’d never see you again, and -- “

“How did your ex manage to find you? Does the spidey-sense rub off with some rubbing, or what?” Ben asks Claire, in his most cheerful passive-aggressive snarky tone.

“He’s, um, he’s not my ex.” Claire composes herself. “He’s -- a hunter.”

“Jesse Turner,” the kid says, and sticks his hand out for Ben to shake. He stands and shakes the hand; he’s not a monster if Claire says he isn’t, so might as well treat him like a person until he proves himself a douchebag. “I’m not a hunter. It’s complicated. And that’s a massive understatement,” he chides Claire. “A _hunter_?”

“You want me to tell the truth?” Claire turns to Ben, obviously caught off-guard by the indignation she finds on his face. “He’s the Antichrist.”

“The technical term is cambion,” Jesse says, flippant, “and I’m on the side of good. Much as I can be, anyway. It’s all about balance, if I upset the chess board everyone’s lives are going to become miserable.” Ben raises his eyebrows at him, and he shrugs, awkward. “But -- I helped Claire, once. Knew she was part of the design. Then she turned out to be such an awesome chick, and -- “

“Tell me about it,” Ben says, finding some appreciation for this guy, Son of Satan or not. “Kind of how it happened to me too. You sure you two haven’t, uh -- “

“That was like six years ago,” Claire interrupts him, all tense. “Jesse, are you sure you want to, um, get involved? I know you said last time that -- well, that whole chess board thing…”

“This is where I come in,” Jesse says, eyeing her, then eyes Ben. “Complicated. But you’re it, guys.”

“We’re hunters,” Ben points out. “Nothing special.”

“You’re the direct heirs of the Winchester Gospels,” Jesse says, immediately; it occurs to Ben that he probably already knows what they’re all going to say, and that’s less creepy to him than sounding incredibly boring. “And I think you’ve known that, even if you won’t admit it to yourselves or anyone else. Can you pour me a glass of champagne? I promise I won’t Twilight Zone any shit in here.”

“You’d better not, we’re not paying for shit,” Ben answers without missing a beat.

Claire pours Jesse a long-stemmed glass of champagne. “No more celestial bullshit today,” she suggests. “Let’s get drunk and bond and shit.”

“Sounds good to me,” Jesse says, and sits down beside Ben, who just can’t get his head around that the Antichrist is hitting on his friend-with-benefits and he really, really kind of likes this guy. _What the fuck is my life._ Then Claire sends him a smile, one soft and vulnerable, and Damien here is right.

He’s known this was right. He’s known it since the first time he spoke to her.

 

\--

 

They’re in Arizona. Ben hates Arizona. There are at least three covens here, and the strategy is a delicate and stupid thing that Ben hates even more than being in Arizona. Claire keeps hemming and hawing, and when they invite Jesse into their motel room he already knows why he’s been summoned.

“I can’t do this for you,” he warns them.

“Why would we want you to do it for us?” Ben asks, a little offended. “What’s the point then?”

“We just need to know details, Jess,” Claire presses, with a faint smile. “Please? How large the covens are, knowing what we’re up against. Make a plan of attack.”

“I’m not supposed to get involved.” Jesse sighs, and presses his face into his hands. “All right. Beer me. I’ll see what I can do.”

Negotiations don’t go well between Claire and Jesse. She’s intense and scared and he’s more frustrated than Ben’s ever seen him, it’s not at all about covens or witches or demons, and eventually he just steps between them. “Okay,” he says, “something’s up. You two gotta talk. I’m gonna make a beer run before the damn liquor store closes.”

“Ben,” Claire says immediately, some sort of fear in her eyes.

“I just figure you should keep your Days of Our Lives shit to yourselves,” Ben goes on, not unkindly. “I don’t do feelings.” He shoulders his duffel bag. “Anything else I should get, babe?”

Jesse looks to Claire, then, who’s pale and quiet and small all at once. “I think we’re good,” she says, as casual as she can muster.

There’s gratitude in the brief look he exchanges with Jesse, and he salutes. “We need to hustle some cash up,” he adds to Claire, “so we gotta do some laundry, that skirt of yours is a moneymaker -- “

“Ben,” Claire says, warning with a tint of amusement, “please go.”

Despite himself, despite everything, Ben grins a little to himself and goes.

 

\--

 

After the fact, Ben realizes he should have swept the car for hexbags. This does him no good when he’s tied to a damn chair with his leg hacked open in preparation for a human sacrifice spell or something, but if or when he gets out of this it’ll be a life-or-death on-the-job lesson and that’s always good, right?

Fuck. The last thing he said to Claire was basically “I’ll be right back.” He was fucking doomed.

“Are you sure we can’t use him for sex magic?” One of the witches’ voices carries to him. Sure, they’re all basically sorority girls, which would be great if they weren’t creepy bitches set on killing people by having them die in the grossest ways possible, especially by spewing bodily fluids everywhere. He really doesn’t want to die being raped by some amateur co-ed witch. It’s just so undignified.

There’s a polite knock on the door, which the witches ignore in favor of more discussion about what to do with their new human toy, then the door breaks open, there’s the plain cocking of a shotgun, and Claire calls into the house, “ _You bitches have twenty seconds from when I stop talking to surrender._ And go.”

The witches burst into giggles, and saunter past the dining room on their way to presumably taunt Claire. From what he can tell, they probably try to hex the shit out of her, but Jesse is doing his Hell Signal Blocking thing, which means the band’s back together. He doesn’t do the feelings thing, but he’s getting some serious warm fuzzies right now.

Within a few seconds, Claire appears, and smiles, and he can’t even admit it to himself but everything is better just with that. “Took you long enough,” he says.

“Oh you’re welcome,” she snipes dryly, deftly undoing the ropes. “Bitch.”

“Jerk,” he answers, naturally, just relieved to be free and not about to be ridden like a horse by those crazy chicks. When she says to go, they go, Ben lagging behind, and Jesse follows, a silent and comforting presence behind Ben as he goes.

 

\--

 

Claire stitches his leg up and goes out for a smoke. Ben feels that same weight, the self-loathing and rush of emotion and _I can’t do that Oprah_ _shit_ all crossing his mind at once, and Jesse puts his hand on Ben’s arm.

The pain lessens, but doesn’t go. Ben hesitates, and looks up at the kid. “You guys matter to me,” Jesse says. “I’ll risk it. For you.”

Ben can’t really believe that, not immediately. “For her?”

“For _you_ ,” he repeats, and looks away, pulling his hands into his lap and only reacting when Claire opens the door.

Ben just wants to pass out and forget that today happened, but Claire lays down beside him and kisses him, slowly and gently, and he watches her beckon to Jesse, who freezes but sits down beside her on the bed and get tugged down into a kiss as well. He feels something when Claire pulls away and Jesse looks at her like she’s the first amazing thing he’s seen since the Apocalypse was nigh, but it’s not jealousy, it’s not anger, it’s… it’s love.

“My boys,” Claire murmurs, and curls up between them. It would be frightening if it weren’t so exhilaratingly real. Ben takes one of her hands and Jesse the other, just naturally, and it’s more important than Jesse’s metaphorical chess boards or Ben’s petty dick-measuring contest. It’s family. It’s love.


End file.
